My Own Worst Enemy
by Hylander McLeod
Summary: AU- Post Faith, Hope and Trick. Upon his return from hell, Angel resorts to continue his original mission. But how much can he accomplish within the shadows And can he deal having enemies on both sides?


Disclaimer- I would say it, but it gets much too tiresome

* * *

**Return**

Struggling to get up from the ground, Angel rose to his knees. Sitting back on his heels, he brought his to his face, palms facing in, the weariness and confusion still present. His mind was full of questions. Where was he? How did he get here? What day was it? What year?

Looking around he was able to come up with one answer.

He was in the very same mansion, the one Angelus had commandeered, when the vile demon had rose from within after he was stripped of his soul, punishment for allowing himself to find love. To find peace, a sense of placid tranquility. To find happiness in the arms of one Buffy Summers. It was from this mansion, Angelus hatched all his schemes; each one aimed break and destroy the one person he had ever loved. To break and destroy her for making him feel his humanity. He remembered them all. Joining arms with Drusilla to rid world of the righteous. Laughing in the young slayers face mocking her for having her feelings for him slip this far. Stalking Buffy and her friends. Letting her mother know of their night together, making it a cruel joke, not something a mother should ever find about her daughter- not in the way at least. Placing the dead body of Jenny Calendar, after snapping her neck, and doing so gleefully- Angel shuddered-, into Giles's bed and setting the scene up in a romantic setting; sprinkling flower petals all around. There had been many others, attempts to destroy the young girl, all of them thwarted one after another, all that led his most grand ambition- awakening Acathla and destroying humanity.

Acathla. The straw which had broken the camel's back. Angelus had taken things beyond the extreme and Buffy was forced to put a sword through his gut to prevent the apocalypse. Him- not Angelus. He had felt the return of his soul, not knowing where he was since that night they made love, till the moment where the woman he loved stood before him, wielding a sword pointed at him. He was still confused; confused when she hugged him as she spoke those words and as she put a sword a through his gut. He expression was grief stricken as he was sucked in to the vortex, one which transported him to Acathla's dimension; one the many hells he had known to exist. It was only then when the memories began to return to him.

Angel was horrified by the actions, his soulless self had committed, actions for which he was to blame. Once more his hands were stained with fresh blood, blood that now mixed with the dried but never fading one of his first reign terror that had come to end some 100 years ago. This time however it was different. He had murdered, and tortured those closest to him, those who he knew, who had trusted him, those he'd come to regard to regard as friends. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes but he refused to shed them. He would not let them show. Not now. Not where he was. Now was not the time.

He had some knowledge in the workings of hell dimensions. Not just of the tortures but of the reason behind them; of why torture was used. The beings here relished not in pain, but in resistance, in defiance. It was the struggles of the captives that made their day, the fighting spirit even more pleasant than the eventual submission and cries of pain.

He would not give them that satisfaction.

He would endure.

At first it was words. Whisperings of heinous deeds, acts cruelty and brutality against those he'd befriended; his compatriots in arms. Angel let in sink, not denying, not wanting to. When his spirit could not be broken, his body was targeted. He was whipped on occasion, the lashes leaving their mark, still evident after days and weeks. He was gutted, pressed with irons, spread on a rack, prodded with searing pokers, had his flesh feasted upon by beasts of all kind, at times losing consciousness but not numb to the pain inflicted.

In this way four hundred years came and went. Four centuries in that hellish plane of existence.

And then all at once it stopped.

The darkness, having been bidding its time; lulling the vampire into a false sense of security, had attacked his mental consciousness with a pain he did not understand.

"WE ALL HAVE OUR WEAKNESS. AND WE'VE JUST FOUND YOURS." The booming voice, blared all around him as a portal had opened beneath him. "BE GONE NOW. BUT DON'T GET TOO COMFORTABLE."

The vampire took a few moments to process this information. He had been released. But why?

He collapsed on all fours, palms hitting the stone floor. His left hand came into contact with something. Something that had rolled across the floor.

Looking down at the ground Angel noticed a glimmer of streaking silver nearby him. He instantly recognized the strange object- a claddagh ring.

He reached for it.

Picking it up he examined it closely. There was no mistake. It was the very same ring he'd given Buffy the night of her seventeenth birthday. The same night he'd last before finding himself with a sword in gut, put there by the very woman who had become his everything.

"Conduit." The vampire concluded. He stared at it for while, fiddling with the object, letting it graze over his fingers before another truth hit him head on. It wasn't simply the ring that had brought him back. It was what it symbolized. The slayer had left it behind, let go of it, much like letting go of a past after having desperately clung to, and clung endlessly refusing to yield to mourning and to move on. The torture he endured in Acathla's dimension could not hold a candle to the understanding of the meaning behind his return.

"She gave up on me."

_Clap, clap, clap_

The slow, loud clapping startled the vampire, catching him off guard; a rather rare feet. Angel looked around. Seated atop the marble fireplace, one leg atop the other was a male figure. He was dressed in dark garb, blue-grey shirt with short sleeves part of which peaked out from a bronze chest plate, grey slacks, and leather boots with metal shin guard protectors. His hair was cropped short, very short ending well above his ears, perhaps no lower than the bottom of his forehead or the tops of his eyes. The chest protector was also grey, engraved with trimmings of a Celtic design. Worn over his shoulders and tied around his neck was what looked like a cape of some sort.

It was evident this stranger was not of this time

"Clever. Not many would have figured it out so fast." He dropped from the top of the structure, landing on his feet with relative ease, letting Angel see one difference in his earlier observation: it was a cloak not a cape. "Your resolve must have been greater than I could imagine."

He looked the vampire up and down, before unfastening his cloak. Giving Angel a disgusted look, he tossed the garment in his direction.

"Show some decorum why don't you. It won't kill you to."

The vampire caught the cloak as the man spoke, wrapping himself in it.

"Who-" he began

"Irrelevant." The figure interrupted.

"What-" He tried again.

"Also Irrelevant."

Angel sighed. Another interruption. He was getting nowhere with this one.

The man simply stood there, arms crossed over his chest, his posture relaxed, though the gleam in his narrowed eyes spelled otherwise.

Were Angel been anywhere near half his best, the situation staring contest and single word exchanges would have long since faded. Both men would be swinging, kicks and punches alike. But in his current weakened condition, even Harris would have no problem knocking him on his backside. And unless his eyes deceived him, the intruder had more than fists in his arsenal should he be foolish enough to engage. Angelus had picked his battles; not engaging unless he knew he'd stand victor when the smoke cleared and dust settled. Clearly that stratagem ended when faced with Buffy Summers. Still, perhaps it was best not to pick this fight.

One thing remained puzzling. The person was here when Angel returned, almost expecting. He had knowledge of his most recent endeavor; the time spent in hell and the pain he'd endured. His blatant words, spoken only after the vampire had voiced out the understanding what had brought him out of Acathla's dimension may allude that this man, whoever he was, was somehow privy to the most recent parts of his existence. Such as his relation with Buffy and his role in her fight against the legions of darkness.

Until Angel was fully aware of who or what he was dealing with this one fight he'd best stay out of.

Nonetheless he had questions he'd want answered and judging by what he'd been witness to so far, this man hoarded knowledge like gold.

"I want some answers" he said quietly.

"They say Pandora doomed the world with her curiosity, Just imagine what you'd with yours."

The tone in the stranger's voice changed. It wasn't friendly but not monotone either. There was hint of hubris in voice. The manner he spoke in was almost downright condescending, one that could once again reinforced by the hard blank expression written on his face.

Angel balled his fists and gritted his teeth. He could feel his anger radiating from, rising like steam from a pot of hot water. He struggled to keep his handsome human visage and refrain from letting his vampire face to the surface.

"My state of being is not for you to consider. Not now anyway. Yours however is quite a predicament. Immortal soldier, being of the undead taking up arms on the side of humanity." He shrugged his shoulders in a 'go figure' gesture. "You erred. One false move. Mistake made, heavy price paid. On all accounts."

He gave angel a questioning look. "Question remains: what will you do now?"

Having said his peace the stranger turned to leave.

"Leave the slayer out of this." Angel's threatened, mustering up what little courage he could.

Kylar stopped and looked back, his face etched in surprise.

"Who said anything about a slayer?" he questioned. "Besides... at present she isn't my pupil nor my enemy."

Angel stood silent, unmoving, staring at the man's retreating back. "Who are you."

"My name is Kylar." He spoke without turning. "That's all I'll tell you."

* * *

So this little number takes place at the end of hope, faith and trick.

I like to think Buffy letting go of Angel, accepting he was lost to her and wasn't coming back, symbolic of her leaving the ring and saying goodbye, was what brought Angel back. Moreover I am very pro Angel when to it comes to my works (there some concepts I didn't like Whedon's take on so that's why my own is quite different) so I like to think of him as someone with a resolve that's very hard to break.

Secondly for those you who don't know the story of Peter and Paul, whenever Peter does wrong Paul takes the blame and receives the punishment. I kind of equated that to Angel and Angelus, with Angelus having committed the atrocities for which Angels feels responsible, hence why he simply took the pain he was subject to in the hell dimension in my version. Bottom line he felt he deserved it.

Lastly a bit on my own character, Kylar, he is a central figure despite being a minor character in this arc. For the moment he's just there- no one knows why. He has his own back story which I will get to in the third arc of this series (unfortunately I cannot start that without giving away the ending to Penance for my Sins and I do not wish to do that. So you'll just have to wait.)


End file.
